Fifty Shades of Bull
by Skyla Ladona
Summary: Since the first name Iron Bull was ever given was just numbers, it's as difficult for him as it is for others to know which nickname and which face is real. Perhaps Samahl Lavellan will see through the lies and deception. The Inquisitor has a world to save, and if Iron Bull must seduce Samahl to help him do so, he will, no matter which shade of Bull is real. Iron Bull/Male Lavellan
1. Prologue: Demands of the Qun

Summary: Since the first name Iron Bull was given was just numbers, it's as difficult for him as it is for others to know which nickname and which face is real. Perhaps Samahl Lavellan will see through the lies and deception. The Inquisitor has a world to save, and if Iron Bull must seduce Samahl to help him do so, he will, no matter which shade of Bull is real. Iron Bull/Male Lavellan

Author's Note: This is a story inspired by the actual voice directions that were given to Freddie Prinze Jr. right before he voiced the first romance scene that takes place between Bull and the Inquisitor in the Inquisitor's bedroom.

Before recording the scene, the director looked right at Freddie and said, "Fifty Shades of Bull! Go!"

Freddie said something along the lines of, "Ok, let's do this!" real enthusiastically and in Bull's voice.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, not even Samahl. I have based him on the more humorous persona of the male British voice for the Inquisitor and have tried my best to match the persona I have seen in the game.

This story features a healthy and consensual relationship of friendship, sex, and love between two badass and sexy male adults. If this is not your cup of tea, then you need not drink.

Save the tea for everyone else.

* * *

Prologue: Demands of the Qun

* * *

Ashkaari had learned at a young age that he was not only good at hitting things. He was also good at thinking and lying. "One who thinks" was the meaning of Ashkaari, the informal name the tamassarans had given him at school. It was always difficult to remember code numbers, and Ashkaari's number of 68107 was a mouthful. So most of the children were given nicknames.

So, when Ashkaari heard the quiet weeping in the children's dorm room, Ashkaari snuck into Tama's study. He carefully searched through Tama's desk with quick fingers and found what he was looking for: The pouch of candy nestled in the top drawer. Ashkaari pulled at the draw string and filched a piece. Then, after a pause to consider his rumbling stomach, he filched another.

Just as he tied the drawstring of the punch, Ashkaari's grey eyes caught sight of a report marked with dates and entries. It was about him.

_68107 "Ashkaari"_

_Age: 8_

_Sex: Male_

_Notes: 68107 likes to dismantle order. The proof is in the blocks he knocks down, the rules he breaks to get the other children to laugh, the questions he asks about nearly every lesson or rule or custom or tradition. When he was asked once to eat two more things on his plate of vegetables before he could go play, he put two pieces of meat on his plate that he had been hiding in his pockets, ate the meat, and left. He was never meant to follow the Qun._

Ashkaari stared at the report with wide eyes. Then he frowned. "Tama's wrong," he muttered. "I'll show her she's wrong. I can follow the Qun." Ashkaari looked at the stollen candy in his hand and frowned. "I'll follow the Qun tomorrow," he promised.

Ashkaari hurried back upstairs to the bedrooms and found the new child, 68123, who had just arrived yesterday, sitting on the floor by the window. His eyes were filled with tears and he was still crying softly, his eyes and nose streaming. It's the reason his nickname was "Tears" at the dorm. According to a conversation Ashkaari overheard from the tamassarans, Tears parents were something called "Tal-Vashoth." Ashkaari did not know what that meant yet.

Ashkaari held out the candy the other boy. "Here," he said with a smile.

68123 looked up in surprise, saw the candy, and took it hesitantly. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

* * *

Hissrad could trust no one in Seheron.

Everyone could be a spy, an assassin, a Tal-Vashoth. So, when Hissrad needed someone in the most intimate of ways, Vasaad, once called "Tears" many years ago, was the one he found sanctuary with. The child Hissrad had once given candy to was now a seasoned veteran of Seheron like himself. They were both scarred, hardened, but in intimate moments, they were still Ashkaari, the planner who was always careful and who worried about people close to him, and "Tears," the impatient and spontaneous one who not only leapt into action and then thought of the consequences later, but the one whose passion, emotion, and lust for life was now one of the only things keeping Hissrad from falling into insanity.

It was Vasaad who suggested this arrangement first, this agreement that, since Hissrad could never surrender on the battlefield, or surrender to emotion infront of his men, Hissrad would only surrender in the circle of Vasaad's arms.

On their last night together, Vasaad was the one who approached Hissrad first.

Vasaad guided Hissrad to the back of their Qunari stronghold, shut them in Hissrad's quarters, and strong-armed him till the back of Hissrad's knees hit the side of the bed. And even though Vasaad was slimmer and leaner, Hissrad let him. He _wanted_ this more than anything.

Hissrad lay back on the bed and stared up at Vasaad's face as the other Qunari leaned over him, Vasaad's ivory microbraids swinging off of his shoulder to caress Hissrad's chest. His friend since childhood bent down and kissed him deeply, his lips firm and seeking, as he ran one dark hand over Hissrad's shorn scalp and the other down his chest and over the ridges of his abdomen. Then Vasaad leaned back a little and his red eyes glistened in the firelight with a question, a request for permission.

Hissrad took in a deep breath and ran his fingers up one of Vasaad's curled horns. "Yes," he murmured.

"What's the safe word?" Vasaad whispered.

"Sataam," Hissrad rumbled quietly. It meant "boot."

After massaging every surface, inside and out, of Hissrad he could with his nimble fingers, Vasaad finally took him. Hissrad gasped, closed his grey eyes, and arched his back. His legs wrapped around Vasaad's slender waist, his heels digging into his lean back, as the other Qunari sucked kisses into his neck as he plunged into him at a relentless pace. Vasaad's hands pressed his horns against the bed. Hissrad kissed back frantically, tears of stress, pleasure, and relief streaming from his grey eyes.

"Hey," Vasaad said with a fond smile. "No tears. That's what I'm for, right Kadan?"

Hissrad tangled his fingers into Vasaad's ivory micro-braids as he came with a groan.

* * *

"Kadan. We can't go in there without a plan," Hissrad snapped. "We need to think this through."

"We can't let the Tal-Vashoth get away with killing those kids at the dormitory," Vasaad shot back. He held his blades in his hands while he glared out over the fortress wall toward the direction of the Tal-Vashoth stronghold hidden by the jungle. "Something needs to be done, Kadan."

"And it _will_ be done and we'll do it," Hissrad growled quietly. "But we _need_ more time to—"

There was a knock. They both turned as one towards the opening door. Gatt, his face pale and drawn, looked at both of them with a horrified expression on his elven and angular features. "The last child, the one who survived the dormitory attack, is dead."

Vasaad tightened his grip around his sword till his dark knuckles cracked. Hissrad turned his head to stare at the jungle and began to shape a plan that would slaughter every last one of the Tal-Vashoth in the stronghold.

* * *

Vasaad threw open the door and charged into the quarters of the Tal-Vashoth leader.

But that wasn't part of the plan. It wasn't part of the plan because Hissrad knew it would be a trap. They had talked about this. He had definitely talked to Vasaad about this . . . Hadn't he?

Vasaad's whole body jerked. Hissrad felt the splash of blood on his cheek, heard the clang of slender blades crash to the floor, and watched as his childhood friend's body fell like a rag doll to the floorboards. The two arrows in his neck still vibrated with the force of their impact.

If only Tears had listened. If only Hissrad had told him to stay behind.

One of the Tal-Vashoth in the shadows laughed.

The last thing Hissrad clearly recalled from the fight was how his ax cut cleanly through that shadowed, laughing face and everything else behind it. Hissrad's world became a mangled mess of blood, rage, anger, and anger. A great, howling sound tore through his throat and shook the very air as he fought like a whirlwind through everything that stood in his way.

He came to surrounded by the surviving soldiers that had been sent to back him up. He was kneeling in the middle of the Tal-Vashoth stronghold, his own blood pooling into the cracks between the tiny mosaic tiles. On each piece of polished glass, he could see his own face, bloodied, bleeding, deformed by the crazed, half-animal look in his eyes. The bodies of dozens of Tal-Vashoth lay broken and bloodied around him. Two of his fingers were severed. He was wounded in many places. His face felt numb with bruises.

And he could no longer think of any reason why he should keep breathing.

Hissrad stared with unfocused grey eyes up at the horrified faces of his remaining soldiers. "I am no longer fit for duty," Hissrad rasped.

* * *

Hissrad had wanted to be re-educated. Instead, they sent him to Orlais to spy. They never told him why, but he could hazard a guess. Many people who got re-educated never came back the same. The same reason Hissrad always found himself in trouble with the Qun was same the reason why he was good at his job. He asked questions. He speculated. He doubted. He was suspicious. At his core, he was a thinker, and the re-education _would_ have fixed him so he wouldn't _have_ to think anymore.

But Par Vollen needed him to be able to think, even if Hissrad didn't want to anymore. Either way, the decision wasn't up to him.

So Hissrad was sent away from the front lines. He was also expected to come up with an alias.

And for the first time in his life, he was truly alone.

As Hissrad passed through a small village, his travel sack slung over a broad and bare shoulder, he felt the eyes of the villagers and farmers on him. Whispers followed him. He kept his grey eyes forward. He could see the suspicious look of the Orlesians out of the corner of his eyes.

Then he heard a giggle. He ignored it. When he heard the giggle again, he looked up. Two women were eyeing him with twin approving looks, smiling with bright, flirtatious grins. Hissrad stared. _That_ had never happened before. Human women usually ran the other way when they saw him. He had never seen them gawk with anything else but fear.

Hissrad grinned back with his best flirtatious grin and arched a dark eyebrow. The two women broke into peals of giggles and walked away, glancing back over their shoulders at his arms and shoulders

After a half an hour of wandering aimlessly, Hissrad found himself in the center of a grassy field. He stared up at the sky and thought absentmindedly, as he usually did when he visited a place so scenic, that Vasaad would have enjoyed himself here.

Hissrad heard a loud snort and turned around.

Standing a few yards away was a giant bull. It lowered its head and dragged a cloven hoof over the dust ground. Hissrad bent his head down, his horns gleaming, and locked eyes with the beast. "You looking at me?" Hissrad asked threateningly.

The bull snorted so powerfully that dust plumed from the ground. Then a cow walked by. The bull turned away from his stare-down with Hissrad to eye the cow's ass.

Hissrad roared with laughter.

* * *

Hissrad knew something was wrong the moment he approached the door of the tavern. His mercenaries, several human men and a dwarf who had followed his lead after they left Fisher's Bleeders, knew it too. They all heard the shouts and the malicious laughter before they saw what was going on. Hissrad threw open the door.

Lying on the floor, surrounded by leering Vints, was a young man. One Vint had the man's legs open wide while another Vint loomed threateningly over him. As he smiled with lewd and violent intent, he held a flail against the terrified young man's face.

"STOP!" Hissrad shouted.

The Vint with the flail looked up in alarm and drew back his arm instinctively.

Instinct took over. Hissrad barreled through the Vints like they were made of feathers and threw himself in front of the flail.

Agony flared raw and hot across Hissrad's face. He threw a punch that dented the side of the flail-wielding Vint's head. He tried to open his left eye but couldn't. For a brief moment Hissrad panicked, but then he heard a cough and Hissrad whirled around to face the young man who was trying to cover himself.

Hissrad realized then that the young man, clothes torn open and bloody, was a woman.

And when Hissrad saw those wide eyes staring up at him in fear and awe, any regret he had about losing an eye vanished completely.

"You're safe now. I'm Iron Bull. What do you want me to call you?"


	2. Chapter 1: The Herald's Fantastic Ass

Chapter 1: The Herald's Fantastic Ass

* * *

The Iron Bull had to admit to himself that the Herald of Andraste had a lot of style.

And a _fantastic_ ass.

The red haired elven mage surfed onto the beach on a brilliant wave of ice, his bladed staff singing as fire blasted forth into existence around its length, and he grinned a charming smile at Bull with bright white teeth and a piercing pair of blue eyes. "You must be The Iron Bull," the Herald called over the curses, shouted insults, and death screams of wounded and furious Tevinters.

Bull decapitated a warrior who decided to stupidly charge at the flame wielding Herald. "You must be Samahl," Bull shouted back.

Samahl Lavellan smiled grimly as the two of them stood side by side, their stances deadly as the Tevinters charged across the sand. "You know my real name. I was beginning to believe it was changed to 'Herald.'" Samahl called forth a spell that made a bright shimmering light dance and ripple over Bull's pale skin. It was the telltale signs of a barrier spell. It deflected a Tevinter electricity spell. The hostile spell flowed over Bull harmlessly like water and turned the sand at his feet to glass. Samahl, in the blink of an eye, was suddenly speeding across the beach on another wave of ice to aid one of his companions, a warrior with short black hair, as a warrior charged at her. Samahl sent up another barrier of protection around her as Bull took down a Tevinter warrior who tried and failed to cut off Bull's arm as the sword bounced off the barrier.

"Chief! More coming!" Krem shouted just as a bald elven mage shouted, "Samahl! Behind!"

Without turning around to face the attackers, the Herald of Andraste slammed the end of his staff into the sand and called forth his own storm of lightning. It tore through the whole group of new arrivals, ignored friendly targets, and the smell of burnt flesh grew thick in the air along with the smell of sea and salt. Tevinters collapsed left and right, convulsing where they fell and screaming in agony before they were picked off by the crossbow bolts of a blond, beardless dwarf.

There were reasons the Qun had such a tight control over mages. This Herald was proof enough for why control was so vital. With his eyes glowing with power and his will alone shaping fire, ice, and lightning into reality from nothing, there was probably no limit to the damage Samahl Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, could do.

And Bull was _really_ glad the guy was currently on his side.

"Chargers!" Bull called. "Stand down!" He turned to look at his second in command. "Krem. How'd we do?"

Cremisius Aclassi wiped blood off his sword on a rag. There was blood near his hairline. It wasn't his. "Five or six wounded chief. No dead."

"That's what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters finish up and then break out the casks." Krem nodded and walked off to do just that. The herald watch all this with a raised eyebrow. "So you're with the inquisition, huh?" Bull asked. "Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming."

"You want to have drinks in the aftermath of a battle?" the Herald asked incredulously.

Bull laughed. "Better than in the _middle_ of a battle." He motioned to one of the casks with a giant, pale hand. "This is Golden Scythe 4:90 Black. You spill it, you'll kill all the grass." Bull sat down on a boulder and motioned an arm towards Krem as the man approached. "I assume you remember Cremisius Acclasi, my lieutenant."

Krem dipped his head in a curt bow to the Herald. "Good to see you again," he murmured politely. Krem turned to Bull. "Throat cutters are done, Chief."

"Already? Have 'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem."

"None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?" he added with a smirk as he walked away to attend to other business.

During the conversation, the Herald had been standing with a hand propped on one hip. The pose did wonders to the muscled curve of his ass, but Bull kept his eye firmly up. The bright red hair was a safer thing to admire on an unknown entity who might be offended by a wandering eye . . . and then Bull suppressed a grin when he noticed the Herald eyeing Bull's very exposed pectoral muscles. The elven mage tore his eyes away, pulled his hand off his hip, and stared back up into Bull's one grey eye to wait politely for him to speak.

_Interesting_, Bull thought._ He likes what he sees. I could use that if I had to._

"So. . ." Bull began. "You've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it . . . And I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us."

"How much is this going to cost me, exactly?" the Herald asked with an eyebrow raise.

"It wouldn't cost you anything personally, unless you wanna buy drinks later. Your ambassador—what's her name—Josephine? We'd go through her and get the payments set up. Gold will take care of itself. Don't worry about that. All that matters is we're worth it."

The Herald looked at him doubtfully. "The Inquisition needs magical power to close the Breach. It doesn't need mercenaries."

Bull faked an air of hurt. "Hey! Everyone needs mercenaries." He tilted his head to the side and smirked. "But if I need to sweeten the deal . . . You need a frontline bodyguard, _I'm_ your man." He rose to his full height. The Herald stood his ground. "Whatever it is—demons, dragons? The bigger the better." He walked a few yards away from the rest of his company, the Herald walking by his side. Then he turned to look down at Herald and came to a halt. "And there's one other thing," he added quietly. "Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear about the Ben-Hassrath?"

Samahl frowned. "They're a Qunari organization, right? The equivalent of their guards and city watch?"

"I'd go closer to 'spies,' but yeah, that's them. Or, well, _us_." The mage's eyes sharpened like daggers. _Yup, he's pissed, _Bull thought. In a business like tone, Bull continued. "The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what's happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."

The Herald stared at him with a mixture of anger, awe, and disbelief. "You're a Qunari spy and you just . . . _told_ me?"

"Whatever happened at that conclave thing, it's bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I'm on _your_ side."

"You still could have hidden what you are."

"From something called the Inquisition?" Bull grinned. "Ha ha. I'd've been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me."

"What would you send home in these reports of yours?" Samahl asked suspiciously.

"Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that will compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you're doing, it'll put some minds at ease. That's good for everyone."

"What's in these Ben-Hassrath reports you're offering to share?"

"Enemy movements, suspicious activity, _intriguing_ gossip. It's a bit of everything. Alone they're not much. But if your spymaster is worth a damn, she'll put 'em to good use."

"She?" the Herald asked with a slight tilt of his head.

Bull laughed. "I did a little research. Plus, I've got a weakness for redheads," he added with a wink of his one eye. _He'll never know, _Bull thought with amusement.

After a long hard look, the Herald said in a dangerous tone, "You run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send _nothing_ she doesn't approve. If this turns out to be a trick, or if your reports compromise the Inquisition . . ." Samahl gestured towards the short haired warrior woman who was currently having a verbal battle with the blond dwarf. She was polishing blood off her spiked shield with efficient strokes. "Cassandra will eat you alive."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Bull said. He turned to look over at the Chargers. "Krem! Tell them to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!"

"What about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes."

"Find some way to seal them. You're Tevinter, right? Try blood magic." He glanced over his shoulder back at the Herald. "We'll meet you back at Haven."

Despite his earlier coldness, the Herald smirked. "And that Golden Scythe 4:90 Black you promised me?" he murmured quietly so only Bull could hear.

Bull grinned. "You'll have to find me later for that," he said.

With another small upward tug of his lips, Herald strode away to join his companions. Bull caught sight of the slight sway of his hips and the way his blood red hair was tossed in the sea breeze. _Well shit, _Bull thought._ He _really_ does have a fantastic ass._


	3. Chapter 2: Sure Thing, Boss

Chapter 2: Sure Thing, Boss

* * *

As Bull and his Chargers passed through the Hinterlands on his way to Haven, he witnessed groups of fanatics worshiping, of all things in Thedas, the _Breach_. The _fucking_ Breach. The thing spitting demons out of it. Apparently, they thought the Maker opened it up so the faithful could go home through it.

The Qun did not always make sense to Bull, but it was practical. It didn't worship an unseen god and it definitely did not encourage people to worship holes in the sky. The Qun was orderly, made sense, and it was meant to serve people that were alive, breathing, and _real_.

Bull and his team got into several skirmishes on the way to Haven and helped where they could with the locals and refugees. But as they got further to Haven, the more he saw the surprisingly positive signs of the Inquisition's presence. It confirmed Bull and his superiors' conclusion that the Inquisition was a force to get behind in this all-out war. All the ordinary folk were flocking to join it. Without support, the Inquisition would probably not succeed. But with the help and direction of the Qun in the shadows, it could become an unimaginable power.

The village of Haven, according to Iron Bull's reports, was the site of an old cult convinced that Andraste was a dragon. He did not know exactly how that worked. It was supposed to also be the resting place of Andraste's ashes. Rumor had it that the ashes actually had magical properties. No one knew where they were anymore.

More widely known was that Haven had been a town made mostly of Pilgrims and townsfolk, who stayed all year round. And because most of the attendees of the conclave had stopped here first, many tents were still pitched and most of their owners had never returned to reclaim them.

As Bull and his team approached the front gates, a soldier guarding the gates to the village looked up at Bull and then did the biggest double take of the Age. The young man's jaw dropped, and his hand fumbled for a moment at the weapon at his side before he noticed the rest of the motley crew of the Chargers standing spanned out behind Bull. "I," he began lamely. "Who are you all?"

_A farmer turned soldier, _Bull thought to himself. "Bull's Chargers," Bull said smoothly with a grin. "I'm Iron Bull. Haven was expecting us."

The soldier stared up at him. "Yes, but no one said you'd be an Oxman." His face whitened. "Sorry! I didn't mean to say that!"

Bull laughed. "Sure. No hard feelings. After, my name _is_ 'Bull.'" he said with a hearty laugh and a pat on the guard's shoulder. The man grinned up at him awkwardly. Bull and his Chargers walked into the village.

Haven was bursting at the seams with refugees, pilgrims from the conclave, soldiers, Templar's, mages, chantry, and orphans. A small tavern, the only tavern in town, was crowded with patrons of all sorts. Children were playing a game of marbles on the frozen ground while a fire roared nearby in a hastily made fire circle of stones.

And from every corner, Bull could hear the incessant chanting of Chanters chanting the Chant of Light while the giant hole loomed above them all in the sky. Its glow turned the white snow a poisonous green.

Bull turned to Krem, "I'm going to find Lavellan. The rest of you," he added. "Get settled. We'll pitch our tents outside of the gates. Get a good look at the town. Keep an eye out for anything that looks suspicious."

The looks Bull received were a mix. Some were horrified. Some were curious, especially the children. One petite Chantry sister, her hair bound up in a headdress, was staring at him with awe. She looked exhausted, hungry, and overworked, but her eyes widened and sparkled with interest when Bull gave her a broad smile.

Bull continued walking through the town and gradually the tenor voice of someone singing came to his ears. He followed the noise to the center of town.

Samahl Lavellan was sitting on a stump beside a fire as he strummed a battered lute. A motley audience was watching and listening quietly. The way Samahl played the lute was a bit different than the way Bull had seen Orlesians play. The Dalish elves must have their own way of holding and using the instrument. The song he was singing was in the common tongue, but the words didn't rhyme, so Bull figured he had translated roughly from Elvish. When the Herald came to the end of his song, there was an applause. "Herald, can you play the one about the Hallah?" asked a woman in Chantry robes.

"He already played that a few minutes ago," a Templar said. "Play the one about the Mythal. You haven't done that since yesterday."

There was noise of disapproval made in the form of someone clearing their throat. Standing nearby with arms crossed and a scowl on his face was a man dressed in Chantry garb. "If you are going to continue this _charade_, then I advise that you only play the songs of the faithful." He said _charade_ with a blatant look of disapproval at Samahl's long and pointed ears.

Samahl studied the man a long moment. Then he smiled. "Of course, Chancellor Roderick." Samahl adjusted the pegs on his lute for a moment, strummed a cord to check the tuning of the instrument, and he began to sing and strum an old Chantry song about Shartan, the elf whose verses had been taken out of the Chant of Light. It was clearly not a well-known or accepted song, for the Chancellor stuck up his nose at the Herald and walked away, but not before staring up in horror at Bull. He walked around Bull, keeping his distance, and walked away towards the chantry.

The crowd listened to the Herald sing without interruption. His voice was not the best singing voice Bull had ever heard—the best singers Bull had ever heard were in Orlesian theatres—but Samahl sang the words clearly, as if the words were much more important than the sound of his voice. When Samahl reached the last cord, the crowd applauded him. Samahl stood and bowed. As the crowd dissipated, Samahl caught sight of Bull. "Welcome to Haven."

"Nice singing," Bull complimented.

Samahl smiled. "Thank you." Samahl placed the lute in a carrying case, laced it shut, and slung the case over his shoulder. "I can walk you through Haven and show you around, if you like."

"Maker go with you, Herald of Andraste," someone called.

Samahl nodded gracefully to the speaker and continued on his way. "You have brought tents?" he asked quietly. When Bull raised an eyebrow, Samahl grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. _Of course_ you did. It is force of habit. We've had to explain to several groups of people that there are not enough houses in Haven to accommodate everyone, but we've been trying to keep as many of the children and elderly out of the cold as possible."

"We've got tents," Bull said. Then he thought for a moment. "Not enough to give away. But we've got a good healer. Stitches."

Samahl grinned up at him as they walked. "Your healer's name is Stitches."

Bull laughed. "Yeah. I bet he'd be willing to look at the wounded."

"Really?" Samahl said hopefully.

"We're here to help, so we'll help."

"If you have any suggestions for any other tasks suitable to the Chargers, let me know. Or let Josephine know." Samahl laughed. "Actually, just let _me_ know and then I can relay it. Josephine has enough to do as it is."

"Sure thing, Boss," Bull said. When Bull first came to Orlais to pose as a mercenary, he immediately took to calling Fisher of the Fisher's bleeders "Boss" to butter him up. Little did the bastard Fisher know that "Boss" was only a few letters and sounds away from the Qunari word "bas." "Bas" meant "nothing." It was Bull's private joke only he understood, and it made those years with Fisher bearable till following him got too much and he and a few companions broke off and Bull started his own company.

But the word "Boss" didn't really butter up Samahl. He just looked up at Bull with a confused look. "Boss?" he asked.

Bull laughed. "Well, you _are_ one of the reasons I'm here. Frontline bodyguard, remember? We talked about this on the beach on the Storm Coast."

"Right," Samahl said with a slightly bewildered expression.

"Never had a bodyguard?" Bull said with a smirk.

Samahl smiled. "Firsts don't usually walk around with Qunari Bodyguards."

"Firsts?" Bull asked.

"Apprentices of the Keeper. We're next in line for leadership in our clans." Samahl's smile faded. "Or at least, I _was_. But I'm here now." Samahl tucked a lock of bright red hair behind his ear as the snowy wind blew it across his forehead. Bull's eye immediately traced the movement of his fingers, the tress of his hair. Bull dragged his eye back up to stare at Samahl's blue eyes.

"What's stopping you from going back?" Bull asked probingly. When Samahl looked at him with surprise, Bull jabbed a giant thumb over his shoulder towards where Chancellor Roderick had disappeared into the Chantry. "No offense, but not everyone here appreciates you."

Samahl frowned. "I'm not here to be appreciated," he said. Samahl pointed to the Breach. "_That_ is why I am here." His eyes reflected the green glow of the Breach and, for a moment, Bull thought he saw a pulse of green light flare from his hand. "I was only sent to observe the outcome of the conclave, but I lost kin when the temple exploded and _that_ opened in the sky. The Inquisition seems to be the only organization in Thedas trying to close it. The world is tearing itself apart, but they say I can stop this. And as far as we know, I am the _only_ one who can. I choose to be here because, appreciated or not, willing or not, I'm needed." Samahl turned his head toward Bull, his eyes still reflecting the eerie glow of the Fade. Bull felt a shiver run up his back. "Does _that_ answer your question?"

"Yes, Boss," Bull answered immediately.

Samahl nodded. "Good," he replied.

Bull followed Samahl around Haven to meet the blacksmith, the left hand of the late Divine Liliana, Commander Cullen, Josephine, the quartermaster, the healer, and even the stuttering bar keep named Flissa who, despite her apparent awe and fear of Bull, was more friendly than afraid. The Healer, a cranky, overworked man called Adan, lamented the loss of the notes of a healer known as Master Taigen. Samahl's eyes widened for a moment and, after he said his goodbyes, he began to stride with purpose towards to the front gates. Bull easily kept pace.

As they passed through the front gates, Bull noticed that the recruits were training with Commander Cullen out in the middle of a beach covered in snow. Bull made a mental note of how he instructed them to block with their shields. _Templar, _he thought silently. _And an experienced one._ He watched as soldiers, men and women, charged at each other with shields, wincing right before impact. Cullen automatically corrected their stances with short commands and occasional touches. "They've got good form. Cullen's putting his Templar training to good use."

Samahl glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. "Did Cullen tell you he was a templar? He's not wearing the armor."

"He didn't have to," Bull said. "Might not be a templar shield, but it's a templar holding it." He pointed as Cullen circled a recruit, his shield and sword in hand. "He angles his shield just a bit down. Helps direct fire or acid away, so it doesn't spray right into your face. Qunari learn the same thing when we train to fight Tevinter mages. Your templar's doing good work."

Samahl looked over at Commander Cullen with a nod. "I'm impressed by what Cullen has accomplished with the troops."

"Damn right. It takes time to build a group into a team. But he's got their loyalty. Now he just needs 'em to make a decent shield wall. And they'll be good to go."

After Bull and Samahl passed by the recruits and walked into the small forest surrounding Haven, they were alone. Completely alone. Samahl easily stepped over roots, twigs, and brambles in the dim forest lit only by the light filtering from the setting sun and the glowing Breach. Bull was a little bit less graceful, but he was quiet. He saw Samahl glance back at him with an impressed look on his face. And his eyes quickly traced over Bull's exposed chest and arms before his face reddened a little and he faced forwards again. Bull made a mental note and tucked it away with all the things he was learning about Samahl Lavellan. Lavellan was either much too trusting of people he had just met, or he was confident in his own abilities to defend himself if someone betrayed him.

As they walked, Samahl finally said, "You don't have to follow. I'm sure you have things you need to take care of with your team."

Bull laughed and pointed to himself. "Bodyguard," he said.

Samahl laughed. "All right, you're right. That will take a while for me to get used to."

"You're out here looking for those notes," Bull said curiously.

"Yes. I think I know where they might be. There's elfroot all over this grove," he said with a wave of his hand. "I passed by a small house out here yesterday. It's a good spot for a healer to live. I suspect it might have been Taigen's, what with all the dried herbs hanging from the rafters."

The small house Samahl was referring to was a shack. When Samahl opened the unlocked door, Bull breathed in the overwhelming odor of herbs, spices, earth, and the old smell of blood. Many people must had come here for healing. Bull could understand why Adan felt so overworked. There were signs all over this little shack that Taigen had been the healer of this village, not Adan. Adan must have been his apprentice.

The two of them searched through the small house for the notes in a strange, comfortable silence. Bull was rifling through a hope chest when he heard a quiet cheer from the other side of the shack. Samahl was lifting a notebook from a table. He read through the pages, his eyes skimming over the words. "I think I found it," he said. Bull stood beside him. Samahl looked up at him and his eyes widened. "_Mythal_, you're tall," he breathed.

Bull laughed. "You just noticed?" he asked.

Samahl smiled. "I haven't had another height to compare your height to till now," Samahl said, pointing up at the rafters decorated by dried herbs.

To prove just how handy his height was, Bull reached up and began untying the dried herbs from the rafters. "We'll need these."

"Yes, we should take it all," Samahl said. He tucked master Taigen's notes into his lute case and began to gather up as much supplies as he could from the shack.

"So, I noticed something," Bull said as they worked.

Samahl looked around. "What did you notice?"

"It's not about the shack. It's about the Inquisition."

Samahl turned back to look at him. "Oh? What is it?"

"I've seen enough of Cullen's training methods to know that your recruits are in good hands. Biggest problem for the Inquisition right now isn't on the front line. It's at the top. You've got no leader. No Inquisitor."

Samahl looked down at the sack of herbs in his arms, a frown between his eyes. Then he looked back up at Bull. "Then maybe we need one. I'd be willing."

Bull blinked. "You? Huh . . ." His eye narrowed curiously. "Why you?"

Samahl shrugged. "Nobody else seems to be stepping forward, and since I can seal rifts, I'm here whether I like it or not. If it proved necessary to have an Inquisitor, I could make a go of it."

Bull hummed. "For a second there, you sounded like a Qunari. My people don't pick leaders from the strongest, or the smartest, or even the most talented. We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions . . . and live with the consequences."

Samahl looked down at the floor and he frowned as if deep in thought about those consequences.

"Ah, who knows," Bull said with a smile to lighten the mood. "Maybe you seal the Breach, the Chantry gets off its ass, and all those soldiers go home and get fat."

Samahl raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"It could happen. It _won't_, but it _could_."

By nightfall, after they had given the desperate Adan master Taigen's notes and bundles of supplies, Bull was convinced that the majority of the Inquisition already was deferring to Samahl's leadership. The Herald had a charismatic personality that seemed to draw people to him. And Bull had to admit to himself that he felt drawn to Samahl as well.

Bull compartmentalized that feeling, along with all the other emotions and thoughts that distracted him from serving the Qun and from doing his job, into the part of his mind that he could lock up and hide away whenever he needed to.


	4. Skyla's Original Fiction

If you have enjoyed my writing, consider checking out my p.a.t.r.e.o.n, where I post original fiction under the name **Atlanas E. Kildarin**

You will have to take the dots out of p.a.t.r.e.o.n, take out the extra spaces, and put a / between com and user for the link to work. (It would not let me put up the whole link.)

www.p.a.t.r.e.o.n . com user?u=7359995

Current Story on P.a.t.r.e.o.n : **Earth and Sky**

Earth and Sky is about three young men-Owen Franklin, Gaudet, and Gill Montero-who hike the Appalachian Trail together and fall in love.

**Owen Franklin** trained for months to get into the best shape of his life so he could hike the Appalachian Mountain Trail with his best friend. But after a terrible falling out, they part ways. Owen stubbornly decides that he will still go on the hike, even if he has to hike it all by himself. Then he meets Gill and Gaudet, and his stoic plan to hike the trail alone is abandoned.

**Thomas Gaudet**, known by his friends as "Gaudet," works hard, has two jobs, graduated with good grades at a small high school in Hot Springs, North Carolina, and just got outed as gay by his pastor to his mother. After withstanding three months of intervention, Gaudet escapes next-door to the Appalachian Trail, where he surrenders himself to the goodwill of strangers in the absence of his family's.

**Gill Montero** never felt right in his own skin once he hit puberty. It's only during his final year of college, when he participates in a Drag King competition, that he explores his gender identity. Instead of filling out an application for graduate school, he takes a year off from school after graduation to live as a man and to train for a Thru-Hike of the Appalachian trail.

Disclaimer: The story takes place on the Appalachian Trail, so real locations will be mentioned in the story.

**Trigger warnings: **

Gender dysphoria, body dysmorphia, eating disorders, homophobia, transphobia, family abuse, gaslighting, suicidal thoughts, historical reference to a real-life hate crime

**Other warnings: **

Occasional blood (because the Appalachian Trail can be brutal), sexual content, adult and mature themes, a fair bit of swearing.

**Things to look forward to: **

Hiking, nature, bears, deer, birds, tents, showers, Zero Days, bad and good weather, campfires, cooking, jokes, lame humor, food, friendship, singing, music, and, of course, love.


End file.
